esperanza

Ana, muchísimo gusto y gracias por estar aquí con nosotros los de eGullet. I look forward to reading your posts, and I've certainly enjoyed your pieces in La Prensa. You are very direct and honest, an excellent thing in a reviewer and writer. Where I live--in Mexico--it's almost impossible to find an honest and thorough review of a restaurant. We have a law in this country that usually prohibits us from offering even the smallest criticism that might be considered potentially harmful to an individual's business. Our so-called restaurant reviews are usually puff pieces for restaurants which may or may not serve acceptable meals. Given that it's nearly impossible to find out which restaurants are wonderful and which are not, there is a lot of trial and error--i.e., consumption of bad meals in the name of research. I'm assuming that you have no such law in Panamá. Again, welcome aboard and I will be watching for your posts.

Thanks for giving us the link to the newspaper. I read a few of her pieces and enjoyed them thoroughly. Do encourage her to join eGullet--it would be great fun having her here. Thanks again, Rachel. Esperanza

I admit that it's been a few years since I've been to La Bufadora, but your description of the blowhole itself is far from accurate. It's quite impressive, especially if you go at high tide. The formation of the rocks forces the ocean water through a narrow hole, making the water explode into a stories-tall spout. I understand that there have been recent changes at the site, but most protect unwary tourists from slipping into the ocean. There have always been souvenir booths along the walkway to La Bufadora, said booths selling the tackiest of tourist claptrap. You will certainly find that T-shirt you mentioned and many variations on the theme. You'll find trinkets made of shells and mugs made to look like breasts and toothpick holders in the form of drop-drawer campesinos and many other highly desireable items. If I were you, I'd go see La Bufadora and then head to Puerto Nuevo for lobsters.

Don't know that place--is it a town? It's not on my map. Tell me where and I'll go, when I'm in the vicinity.

Okay, gang, here they are as promised: Mexican hot dogs from a Mexican cart on the plaza in the town where I live. I asked the vendor how she prepares the hot dog for cooking. It's sliced lengthwise about halfway through and slathered with mayonnaise. The slightly pre-cooked bacon is wrapped around it. The whole thing is then grilled on a flat top until the bacon is pretty crispy. The bun is opened and slapped with more mayonnaise and grilled till it's toasty brown. Then the vegetables are piled on--shredded cabbage, chopped onions, chopped tomatoes, jalapeños--and it's hit with some mustard and handed to you. What I want to give you in the photo is the fragrance, the sublimely wafting hot dog/bacon sizzling essence. Scratch your monitor and sniff deeply. Ahhhh...so worth waiting for.

Later this evening, when night falls and the town square comes to life, the hot dog cart will appear in all its glory. I will be there...I will be there... We are waiting for Dogot. LOL... Esperanza

Twenty-five years ago or so there was a locally made sucker (paleta) made in Tijuana that I was addicted to. It was a ring of sweet, clear tamarind hard candy that surrounded a salted plum (saladita) coated with chile. The combination of sweet tamarind, sour/salty plum, and chile was heavenly. There was also a tamarind candy called Chacachaca--more like fruit leather. It's still made, and has also been found to be loaded with lead. Now I love those little clay pots of tamarindo con chile, the ones that come with a tiny spoon to dig out the candy. I also often buy bulk sweetened tamarind pulp flavored with chile--spitting out the big black tamarind seeds is part of the fun of eating it. I worry more about not having a steady supply of dulce de tamarindo than I do about lead.

Unfortunately the hamburger/hot dog cart guy on the small plaza in Pátzcuaro was only making hamburgers on Wednesday and Thursday nights, so no photos yet. I'll go to the plaza here in town over the weekend and take a picture--assuming the vendor is vending hot dogs and not just hamburgers. Hold that thought... Esperanza

I'll be out and about in Pátzcuaro tonight and tomorrow night and will take a picture of the famous Mexican bacon-wrapped hot dogs as they are being cooked, if I see a cart. They do look something like woodburner's photo, only moreso. Fud is a well-known brand name in Mexico; the company makes hot dogs, processed hams (both regular and turkey), and a long list of other deli meats as well as a whole host of other products. Of course the brand name is pronounced 'FOOD'. In just a couple of hours I'll be heading out for Pátzcuaro. On the list of food stops: 1) early lunch today in Zamora, Michoacán for the best carnitas I've ever had anywhere; 2) late supper tonight on the small plaza in Pátzcuaro--enchiladas placeras, and my mouth is already watering; 3) breakfast corundas tomorrow with Don Juan, ditto for the watering mouth; and 4) Friday breakfast: uchepos, uchepos, uchepos, eaten on the street, hot out of the steamer. No hot dogs this time. Meet me there! Esperanza

The lead article in the NYTimes Wednesday (October 27) Dining section, both in print and on line, will be about Pátzcuaro, the Day of the Dead, and some traditional foods. Look for some quotes by yours truly. The reporter asked me to give him a food tour in Pátzcuaro last month. We had a great time and ate a little of everything. Esperanza (Cristina)

Churros! Churros with cinnamon and sugar, churros stuffed with cajeta, churros--mmmmmmm churros and hot chocolate!

Masa--a little ball of masa from the tortillería around the corner--is always the thickener for atole (de guayaba, de vainilla, de zarzamora, etc), for tejuino, and for a Purhépecha soup that I make. I haven't tried it for thickening other things, but I can't think why it wouldn't work. Andiesenji is right: it does need to be incorporated into hot liquid before it can be added to the pot of whatever you want to thicken. It's also interesting that something that is a powder--masa harina--is being called masa. Masa harina literally means 'dough flour'; once you add the liquid it becomes masa (the dough). And Sr. Rancho Gordo says 'wet masa'. Would that be the reconstituted masa harina, or am I missing something here? I'm confused.

OK, I'll speak to a whole bunch of questions at once. First: Reforma is available at the GDL airport for sure; I was just there yesterday and they had yesterday's issue on the newsstand. Nick, poke around and let me know if it's available in the city, please. Second: Queso cotija is one of my all-time favorite cheeses. I just bought 100 grams this morning at the tianguis to crumble on frijoles refritos. The frijol I cooked this morning was garrapato. Rancho Gordo is so right. Cotija in the USA is nothing at all like cotija in Mexico. In the States it's usually sold in those vacuum packs that suck all the soul out of the cheese along with the air that comes out of the package. Here in the Guadalajara area it's generally sold in chunks cut from huge wheels. I don't know about cotilla--maybe it's a typo in Caroline's post, or maybe it's a cheese I'm not familiar with. Third: I was a little surprised by the article's fairly short list of Mexican cheeses. There are certainly others: panela, queso fresco, and doblecrema come immediately to mind. Queso de cabra is in short supply here in the GDL area; we do see a bit of it, but not nearly enough to be tired of it. Fourth: Carrot Top, trip to Mexico is definitely required. Jalisco is lovely this time of year. C'mon down.

Rachel, this is a marvelous topic and one that is very little discussed. People so frequently ask me where they can find a "really good Mexican restaurant" here where I live. The truth is, a really good Mexican restaurant is tough to find, even here in Mexico. Most exquisite Mexican food is cooked at home, but it's not of the alta cocina class. I usually ask foreigners visiting Mexico to think about what they want to eat when they dine out wherever they live in the United States. The almost inevitable answer is "something we don't cook at home"--fine Italian, fine French, Asian, etc. Your analysis of the upper echelons of Mexican society hits the mark exactly. Yes, los Sres. Cremita might grab an antojito here or there, but they're much more likely to want sushi made of fish flown in this morning from Japan or a beautifully prepared French meal than a plate of churipo or birria. Even a meal such as the one I described at Izote is suspect, at least until someone insists that it's truly worth trying ('No, honestamente, de veras, vamos--vale la pena, te va a gustar.') I tried with all my might to find a way to get into the event at the Museo on Monday night--I even asked about it at Izote--but to no avail. I was pleased but a little irritated to read about it in La Jornada on Wednesday morning as I was leaving the city. I had so wanted to be there. Please give us more of your thoughts!

I've lived in Mexico and eaten Mexican food for nearly twenty-five years—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Everything from nacho fries at my favorite Southern California greasy joint to the most hyper-ethnic comal-roasted gusanito has been tasted and tested and frequently prepared at home (no, I haven't roasted a worm—yet). Except—except that last Friday night in Mexico City I dined at Patricia Quintana's Izote, where the celebration of corn is raised to new heights and 'authentic' takes on a completely new meaning. Tradición, sazón, and alta cocina mexicana combine here to give the diner a transcendent experience. The room is intimate and lovely. At eight o'clock in the evening there are only two other tables occupied. We ask the waiter to take his time—we are in no rush, although we're quite hungry after our day-long trip from Guadalajara. He brings a half-gourd filled with assorted breads accompanied by several salsas. The deep red is picante and tastes of the marvelous chile mora. The green, a salsa cruda, is aún más picante and is heaven. The other red, paler in both color and taste than the first, doesn't reach the same level of superb. We order wine: Casa Madero Shiraz (Mexico) that is rich, smooth, and full in the mouth. We study the menu. The waiter hovers a little too close, and we tell him again that we are in no hurry. Ready to order, we ask for the plato de tamales: de queso con epazote, de flor de calabaza, de cuitlacoche, de chanchimitos, de pollo con jitomate. We also request sopecitos de camarón a la mantequilla de chipotle. We ask the waiter to leave the menus so that we can order our meal a bit at a time. The tamales are tiny, two bites each, and perfect, the masa plumped like pillows, the fillings stunningly different from one another in textures and flavors. It's hard not to be greedy; I want to taste everything again and again. The queso con epazote is salty and savory, the pollo con jitomate is slightly ripe-tomato sweet, the flor de calabaza tastes of green things growing. The cuitlacoche tastes of deliciously seductive mystery. The plate of sopecitos arrives, enough for each of us to have two. Each tiny masa saucer is filled with puréed bean, topped with shrimp, and sauced with chipotle. The combination is at once earth and sea and smoky spice; it works better than anything I've eaten anywhere recently. It's hard not to grab the plate and slide toward me! me! me! They are that delicious. The waiter comes to remove our first course plates and I order sopa tarasca de frijol bayo. This soup, which I've eaten in a dozen Michoacán restaurants and frequently make at home, is one of my favorites. I have to taste Chef Quintana's version. The presentation alone is celestial: the shallow bowl is sectioned into a pile of tiny cubes of white cheese, a pile of shredded, hair-fine, golden fried tortilla strips, and another pile of crisp-fried deep maroon ancho chile shreds. The waiter holds a jarrito of hot soup high above the bowl and pours it over the garnishes. In a moment the cheese begins to melt and I eat. After twenty-five years of sopa tarasca, I taste its full potential for the first time. The room is filling up. A table of young people behind us is ordering margaritas in a rainbow of flavors: black raspberry and tamarind lead the list. Plates of exquisitely presented food go by our table to other diners: what was that? And what did they order? And who is that elegant woman at the table next to ours, the woman who is autographing that stack of CDs? Now it's time for the hardest decisions: the main courses. One of my companions orders the cordero al vapor en hoja de plátano con salsa borracha, salsa de chile mora, salsa verde cruda, y salsa de chile ancho con jugo de naranja y tomatillo de milpa con chile de arbol. The other companion orders pechuga en hojas de aguacate con calabacitas rellenas de hongos de la temporada y magdalenas de zanahoria. I am torn, torn, torn, but finally order filete de res al comino con salsa de guajillo y verduras a la plancha. Of course we share. The cordero is steaming hot in its banana leaf, opened at the table, and its bursts of flavor flood my mouth. I try it with each salsa and prefer the chile mora, which perfectly complements the slight gaminess of the moist, tender meat. The pechuga tastes the way only Mexican chicken can: juicy, rich, flavored with the avocado leaf and sauced with an unidentified but perfect sauce. The calabacitas are the wee round ones—the size of golf balls—that I've only seen here in Mexico, with the tops sliced off, the insides scooped out, and stuffed with chopped mushrooms. The magdalenas are carrot-orange and the ideal foil for the rich chicken. My filete arrives perfectly (I know I've used 'perfect' over and over again, but there's nothing else to call this cooking) medio rojo, the salsa de guajillo drizzled over it. The filet is perched on a thick slice of grilled onion and topped with a mound of perfectly (!) cooked spinach. There are a few pieces of new potato at the side. Again, I want to hoard every bite of it. The waiter clears our plates and deftly slips a new white cloth onto our table. Postre? We don't want to miss anything—we are already joking about coming back again the next night. As one of my companions said, "I'm too full already, but dessert goes to another stomach, right?" She orders natilla a la vainilla de Papantla con bolsita de chocolate rellena de trufa y frutas del bosque. My other companion orders pastel de marzapán y chocolate blanco, and I order tarta zaachila de chocolate con nuez, helado, y cajeta. The rich, creamy natilla is served in a soup plate, dotted with fresh red raspberries, with two chocolate truffles in the center of the bowl. One is white chocolate and the other is milk chocolate. The pastel de marzapán is a tiny cake, two inches high and an inch or so wide; it's pure marzapán, covered with white chocolate and decorated with two white chocolate leaves. The little cake is sauced in some sweet heaven. My tarta is in a double crust, drizzled with cajeta. I cut into it and it oozes thick, hot, black streams of sweet chocolate that mingle with the buttery cajeta and the ice cream at its side. There's no way we can finish this excess of dessert. There's no way we can resist licking our spoons one last time. Dinner for three including wine: 1475 pesos, approximately $130 USD Would I do it again? In a DF minute. Izote Presidente Mazarik 513 Col. Polanco Distrito Federal México

I'm envisioning a deconstructed Twinkie, a charming thought indeed. That would be a tiny square of pain de genes with a squiggle of crème fraîche épaisse?

OMG--I've been offline for nearly a week, first due to a head-on car crash--no injuries, thank god, pero me dio un susto increible; the other car turned across the highway directly in front of me and slammed into my car--and then the dratted computer was down for the next three days. And the first post I read on eGullet tonight is about this event--and I will actually be in the DF from Friday Oct 1 till Wednesday Oct 6! How does a person get to go to this event? I'll be traveling with the executive chef (a CIA graduate) from a local hotel and man oh man--Caroline, gimme the scoop, please. Oh, and PS: we have reservations Friday night at Izote.

In addition to the shredded pork meat, I always use sautéed white onion, minced garlic, minced chile serrano, diced potatoes, diced carrots, sliced olives, raisins, diced fresh tomatoes, sometimes a diced fresh pear or apple...let's see...bay leaf, a sprig or two of fresh oregano, salt...I think that's all. I love picadillo, not just as a stuffing for Chiles en Nogada but also served with white rice. In fact, I wish I had some right now. I'm sooooo hungry. Time to go raid the refri.

WOW! I am just incredibly impressed and extremely grateful for a tested recipe. You get a two-thumbs-up! I will pass your recipe on to the person who was looking for one--and who knows, maybe even find time to bake it myself. Esperanza

Thanks for posting the menu. It's pretty much a nachos/fajitas place, but there are some interesting twists. I sent the owner an email asking about the salsa Monterrey--we'll see if he answers.

Hmmm...to start with, the city of Monterrey is not in the state of Sonora. Monterrey is in the state of Nuevo Leon, which is about as far to the east of Mexico as Sonora is to the west--nearly coast to coast. Their claim to authenticity smacks of saying 'authentic Arizona sauce from West Virginia'. We're talking at least a couple of thousand miles distance between the two places. However, they may indeed be serving a real sauce from Monterrey. Tell us a little more about the sauce so we know what it is they're putting on their entrees. Is it red, green, chunky, smooth, hot 'n'spicy, mild...? There are so many salsas with so many regional variations.

According to news reports, the Wal-Mart is being built 1/2 mile from the pyramids.

Sounds good to me. I will root con todo gusto.

Rachel, would you be willing to post your recipe for Pan de Muertos? I have a request for a recipe and have never made it (I'm not a baker), so don't want to give out something that's not tried-and-true. Thanks Esperanza

If you'd like to read a report related to Caroline's post, click here. There is protest, but Wal-Mart is pretty nearly inevitable everywhere here in Mexico. Here's a thought for you: Wal-Mart is the single largest private employer in this country. It's very popular with the Mexicans, although not for packaged tortillas. Most tortillas are still purchased at the neighborhood tortillería, just moments before they are consumed. Some Wal-Marts do have tortillerías in the stores; the tortillas are the same as those found at any other tortillería. I've been forced to give some thought lately to changes--or progress--in Mexico. Not all change is progress, of course, but... More on this later. Esperanza